


The Secret

by ckofshadows



Series: The Secret [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Action/Adventure, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 12:07:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10217672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ckofshadows/pseuds/ckofshadows
Summary: In retrospect, there were signs that Kurt had missed.





	1. Chapter 1

In retrospect, there were signs that Kurt had missed.

* * *

There was the time they watched Pretty in Pink, and both sighed dreamily whenever the leading man came onscreen.

"Are you as turned on by Andrew McCarthy as I am right now?" Kurt asked.

"Course I am," Blaine scoffed. "I've seen this movie about a hundred times, and let me tell you, it's not for Molly Ringwald."

"What's your favorite thing about him?"

"His eyes," Blaine said immediately. "Even when he's putting on a brave front, there's something so vulnerable in his eyes. They're this gorgeous combination of blue and green, and you just feel like you can trust him when he looks at you."

"You've given this some thought," Kurt said teasingly.

"Yeah, well, it's a lasting crush. Why do you think my name is Blaine?"

Kurt opened his mouth to ask how that made any sense, but then Ducky was doing some sort of dance, and Blaine was laughing out loud, and the moment was gone. He must have misunderstood, that was all.

* * *

There was the night Blaine came over, and Kurt hadn't been able to disguise his surprise when he opened the door.

"What are you doing here?"

"Visiting my boyfriend," Blaine grinned.

Kurt couldn't help grinning back. They'd only started referring to each other as boyfriends recently, and the novelty still hadn't worn off. "But it's Thursday night. You have Warblers practice tonight, from six to nine-thirty."

"It was canceled," Blaine said, coming in and hanging his coat up.

"No it wasn't. Nick and Jeff have been having a Twitter argument for the past half-hour, over whether side-steps and snapping constitutes actual choreography." Kurt raised one eyebrow. "I gave my two cents, of course."

"Of course." Blaine shifted uneasily.

"So? Why aren't you there?"

He paused, then sighed. "I've been suspended from the Warblers for two weeks."

Kurt gasped. "What? Why on earth?"

"It's a long story, Kurt. I'd rather not get into it. Can't we just..." Blaine smiled charmingly, "distract each other?"

Hours later, after Blaine had left and Kurt had applied some Burt's Bees chapstick to his kiss-sore lips, he texted David, asking why Blaine had been suspended from the Warblers.

_Wes found out Blaine sabotaged us at Regionals_ , came the quick reply.

Kurt stared at his screen in confusion.  _Sabotaged how?_ he wrote back.

_Apparently he did a research paper in American Government class about the Tea Party in Ohio, and there was a quote in there from that judge, Tammy Jean Albertson. She talked about how gays are destroying America, and how the next thing you know, our children will be listening to duets between two men on the radio._

_Oh,_ Kurt responded, his stomach sinking.

_Wes confronted him about it, and he admitted the whole thing. Said that was one of the reasons he chose to do that duet with you. Everyone's really pissed, Kurt. We could have had a shot at going to New York and getting to be on TV, and he ruined it for us._

He couldn't think of a response to that, so he finally just texted back  _Hope you're all able to work things out._

Later, he asked Blaine why he'd chosen to put the duet in, knowing what he knew about the judge. Blaine gave an impassioned speech about standing up to bullies and how there were more important things than winning a singing competition.

Kurt nodded, not believing him for a second.

* * *

Over summer vacation, he and Blaine went to a water park with Finn, Mike and Puck.

Kurt, to no one's surprise, wanted to stop every fifteen minutes or so to reapply sunblock. He insisted on wearing a wide-brimmed hat, and laughed humorlessly when anyone dared to suggest that he venture into the water.

"You did realize what a water park was, when we invited you, right?" Finn asked.

"Make fun of me all you want," Kurt said loftily, smearing on an additional coat of SPF 50. "But mark my words – when we're both sixty, and I look thirty and you look ninety, you'll wish you'd taken my skin care advice."

"Ooh, check it out!" Mike hollered, pointing off toward the distance. "They have one of those wave pools that you can surf in!"

The boys took off toward the Surf Zone, Blaine dragging Kurt as they ran. Even Kurt would later admit, it ended up being hilarious. Mike kept slipping off his board, while Finn never even managed to stand up on his. Puck got a few seconds of surfing in before he somehow lost his board completely.

Blaine, though, was the big surprise.

He strode out with his surfboard, waded into the water, and stood up on the board, surfing as though he'd been doing it all his life. The other four boys watched him in stunned admiration, as he caught wave after wave with ease. Finally, Kurt called to him, and he came back onto dry land.

"Dude, that was awesome," Finn said, bro-punching Blaine's shoulder. "You're so good at surfing!"

"I haven't done it in ages," Blaine said breathlessly, delighted. "I was worried I'd forget."

Kurt paused in adjusting his hat. "Wait, when did you go surfing? You told me you've never left the Midwest."

Blaine's smile faltered, before he caught himself and smiled wider. "Oh, we used to go to this Surf Zone when I was little. My family loves water parks."

The little voice in Kurt's head was dubious. While he'd only met Mrs. Anderson, she certainly didn't seem like she would step foot in a place like this. Besides, there was a large sign by the Surf Zone saying that it was a brand new attraction.

But then Blaine took his hand as the group headed off toward the exit, and Kurt started focusing on a whole other kind of attraction.

* * *

There was the time when Blaine came over, and found Kurt elbow-deep in college research.

"What if I don't get into Parsons?" Kurt asked in a panic. "What if you don't get into Columbia?"

"Hello to you, too," Blaine said easily, leaning down to kiss Kurt's cheek. "What brought about this hysteria?"

"What are we going to do if one of us gets into his top choice college, but the other doesn't? I don't want to be in New York without you. And I sure as hell don't want  _you_  to be in New York without  _me_."

"So we'll apply to some safety schools that are in the city," came the calm reply.

"I don't want to settle when it comes to college," Kurt said, shuffling some papers. "I don't want to leave Lima and move all the way to New York City, only to go to The Captain Loser University for Crappy Design."

"I'm almost positive that's not a real school."

"Be serious, Blaine."

"Sorry," he grinned, not sounding sorry at all. "I just think you're worrying a bit too much."

"We need a contingency plan," Kurt insisted. Then, his face brightened. "Luckily, I think I've found one." He leaned over to his computer, pulling up a few windows on the screen while Blaine stared at the tantalizing sliver of skin that had appeared between the bottom of Kurt's shirt and the top of his pants. "See?"

Blaine nodded, then blinked. "Huh?"

"Cal Arts and UCLA," Kurt beamed. "Both top schools for our fields, and within 25 miles of each other. We could get an apartment somewhere in the middle, and–"

"No," Blaine said.

"That's okay, we can be a bit closer to UCLA, you'll have more traffic to deal with anyway–"

"I don't want to go to UCLA."

Kurt looked up, surprised at the firmness in Blaine's tone. "No?"

"No. I want to go to New York, not California. New York was our plan." Blaine wouldn't look at him. "We had a plan, Kurt. Remember?"

Kurt just nodded. "I remember."

* * *

Then there was the time when Blaine indulgently let Kurt give him a makeover.

"This is  _fantastic_ ," Kurt exclaimed, as they flitted in and out of seemingly every clothing store in the Lima Mall. "You look  _so good_  in skinny jeans, it's a crime that you haven't been wearing them all these months."

Blaine just shrugged good-naturedly. "I guess. But I feel so... on display when I'm wearing them."

"Yes, and my eyes are thanking you for that," Kurt muttered, leaning back to get a better look at the way the jeans hugged Blaine's ass.

"Hey!"

They laughed, heading into a shoe store. An hour and a half later, they emerged. Kurt looked energized; Blaine looked exhausted.

"I just don't see how these boots are different from the other fifty I tried on," he groaned.

"And that's why I'm here," Kurt said consolingly. "Because you don't see the difference."

"I think I was just insulted," Blaine pondered. "But I'm too tired to care."

"No time to rest yet, my dear," Kurt said, gesturing in front of them. "First, we have to complete your makeover."

Blaine blinked at the sign over the door. "Andre's Salon and Spa? Why–"

"Surprise!" He clapped his hands excitedly. "I scheduled you an appointment with Jean-Paul."

"I just got a haircut a couple of weeks ago," Blaine groaned. "Please, let's skip this."

"You don't understand. Jean-Paul is an absolute miracle worker when it comes to curly hair. That's his specialty; he trained in Paris. He knows how to cut it so that the hair curls just the right way, without going all fro on you–"

"I don't have curly hair."

Kurt stopped, and stared. "What?"

"My hair is straight," Blaine said, one hand flying up to stroke his hair self-consciously.

"It is not."

"Is too."

Kurt cocked his hand against his hip. "Blaine Anderson, your hair is about as straight as  _you_  are. Which is to say, not at all. Even with all that gel you pour into it, it still can't stand to lie flat."

Blaine's expression was stormy as he picked up the shopping bags of their purchases. "Look, I'm tired, and I don't want a haircut. Let's just go." Without waiting for a response, he turned and marched toward the exit. Kurt followed blankly.

When Blaine pulled the car up to the Hummels' house, idling in the driveway, Kurt didn't move.

"I'm sorry that I upset you," Kurt said finally.

Blaine sighed. "I'm sorry that I acted ungrateful when you spent all day trying to help me look better," he said, subdued.

Kurt looked up suddenly. "You know I love you either way, right? Whether you're wearing skinny jeans or cargo pants or... or sweatsuits–"

His train of thought was broken when Blaine reached out and hugged him tightly. Bewildered, Kurt just hugged him back.

They sat there clutching each other for a long, long time before Blaine finally let go.


	2. Chapter 2

The early signs had been there, but it was in early October that things really began to unravel.

* * *

"How're you holding up?"

Startled, Kurt looked up to see Santana standing over him, a plastic cup of beer in her hand and an uncharacteristically sympathetic expression across her face. "Pardon?"

She plopped down next to him on the couch, sipping from her beer. The New Directions party had been going for a couple of hours, and everyone in attendance was either drunk, making out, or both. Santana gestured across the room at Blaine, who was chatting with Sam as he piled potato chips into a paper bowl. "Your relationship is going down the tubes. I'm asking how you're handling it."

He let out a short laugh. "What are you talking about? Blaine and I are fine. Great, in fact."

"Really."

"Yes. Really."

She stared at him. "Oh, god, you don't know."

"Know what?"

"That he's cheating on you."

Kurt shook his head incredulously. "You're insane."

"No, Bambi, I'm an expert on cheating. And mark my words, your man isn't  _your man_  anymore." She leaned closer to him, dropping her voice down to a whisper. "Try asking him about your future together."

"We've talked about our future plenty already."

"Then prove me wrong. Ask him to commit to doing something with you in the spring." She fell silent as Blaine returned with the chips and a couple of water bottles.

"Hey guys, Sam says we're gonna do karaoke soon," Blaine said brightly. "You two in?"

"Only if it doesn't involve you and Rachel hopping around like rabid Easter bunnies," Kurt replied. He noticed Santana giving him a pointed look, and cleared his throat. "Hey, Blaine, so I was thinking."

"I'm not getting highlights," Blaine said immediately.

"No, not that." Though it wasn't a bad idea. Kurt made a mental note to push him on that later. "No, I was thinking that we should wear matching tuxes to senior prom this year. Something really classic, with sleek lines, and..." He trailed off, noticing the odd look on Blaine's face. "What?"

"It's nothing."

Santana ground her heel against the top of Kurt's foot.

" _What_ , Blaine?" he insisted.

"I'm just not sure I can go to your prom this year. Let's not plan anything definite yet, okay?"

Kurt's jaw dropped. "Are you serious? You're really going to abandon me for my  _senior prom_?"

"I didn't say... I mean... I'm just not positive what my schedule is yet."

Blaine looked utterly uncomfortable, and Santana looked utterly smug. Kurt just sat there, stunned. It didn't mean Santana was right, though... but if she wasn't, he wasn't at all sure what it  _could_ mean.

* * *

Blaine couldn't be cheating on him. No way.

There were a lot of reasons – Kurt's utter fabulousness topping the list – but one of the most compelling was that Kurt would have heard about it by now. Everyone at Dalton thought they were the sweetest couple ever, and would stage an intervention if they thought their lead soloist were being unfaithful. And when Blaine wasn't at Dalton, he was in Lima with Kurt.

There just wasn't  _time_  for him to be seeing anyone else.

Then, during the second week in October, Kurt found out that he was wrong.

There was another guy.

Construction on Willow Street had lengthened his drive to the Lima Bean. He arrived late and saw that Blaine was already seated at their usual table, talking on his cell phone with two cups of coffee on the table in front of him. Kurt approached from behind, unnoticed.

"This is all too much, too fast," Blaine was saying into the phone insistently. "You can't pressure me into this, Scott."

Kurt stopped short, listening.

"I'm not an idiot. But you're asking a lot of me. I'm not sure I can go through this again." He was silent for a long moment, then spat out, "Don't you dare question my commitment. Not you of all people." He glanced at the clock mounted on the coffee shop wall and shook his head. "Look, I have to go. My... my friend is meeting me for coffee. We'll talk about this later." Then he ended the call and put the cell phone on the table, huffing out a sigh.

His heart pounding furiously, Kurt lifted his chin and breezed over to the table. "Hello."

"Kurt. Hey." Blaine slipped the phone into his bag. "How are you?"

"I'm okay. Who were you talking to?"

"Oh, just this guy in my physics class. We're doing a lab on centrifugal force, and he had some questions."

Kurt took a sip from his coffee. "Anyone I know?"

"You remember Ben Connors?" At Kurt's nod, Blaine said, "Yeah, it was him. He sends his best, by the way."

They smiled weakly at each other, and drank their coffee in silence.

* * *

Two days later, Blaine texted him at seven o'clock, asking if he could come over. It was a Warblers practice night, and between the odd timing of it and the mysterious  _Scott_ , Kurt was pretty sure he was going to be dumped that night.

What he didn't expect, though, was to find Blaine on his doorstep, looking miserable.

"What's wrong?" Kurt asked, a little guarded.

"I quit the Warblers," Blaine replied, then burst into tears.

Horrified, Kurt hurried Blaine up the stairs and into his bedroom, closing the door behind them. He waited until Blaine was seated on the bed, then asked simply, "Why?"

"It was too much of a time commitment," Blaine intoned dully. "I needed to focus more on my schoolwork, with college applications coming up–"

"Bullshit," Kurt interrupted. "You're using that voice that you use whenever you're repeating something someone else told you to say. Who is it? Your mom? Your dad?"

"No, I haven't even seen–" Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, tears still leaking out steadily. "I just quit, okay?"

"Okay." Kurt lay his hand gently on Blaine's back. "So why are you so upset?"

Blaine let out a sob. "Because they were my  _friends_. The first real friends I'd had in forever."

"You'll still see them at school," Kurt consoled. "It's not like–"

"Tell me our plan again." Blaine looked at him beseechingly. "Please, Kurt."

He pulled Blaine into his arms and rocked him like a child. He'd never seen Blaine look so broken. "We're both going to enroll at New York City colleges. I'll make an instant impression on the fashion world, and grab a kickass internship at one of the top fashion houses. You'll get disgustingly good grades and clerk for a top judge."

"Keep going," Blaine whispered, clutching his waist.

"We'll rent an apartment together. A place with hardwood floors and good light. Somewhere in the Village, or Chelsea. We'll paint our bedroom in stripes of white and burgundy, to complement both our skin tones. Every weekend, we'll hit up the antique flea markets, until we've found enough treasures to decorate the apartment. We'll visit every coffee shop until we find the perfect one, and we'll become regulars there. I'll do all the cooking, you'll do all the cleaning." He smoothed back Blaine's hair.

"What else?" Blaine asked softly.

"We'll visit karaoke bars when we need to escape from our studies. You'll make all the women in the place fall in love with you, while I'll captivate all the men. So when we leave together, every single person there will be envious. And then I'll take you home and kiss every inch of you."

Blaine let out a whimper.

"I'll never have any trouble falling asleep at night, " Kurt continued, "because as nice as falling asleep next to you is, waking up next to you is even better. So I'll want morning to come as soon as possible."

They sat together, listening to Blaine's shuddering breaths. "It's a nice plan, Kurt," he said faintly. "I wish it could happen."

Kurt pulled him up, taking him by the shoulders and looking at him firmly. "It  _will_ happen."

Blaine hesitated, then said, "You know I love you, right?"

"Of course I do."

"I love you more than anything. More than anyone." Blaine was trembling. "I'd do anything for you. You know that, right?"

Kurt nodded, feeling lost, and when Blaine leaned forward to kiss him desperately, he knew something wasn't right. He knew it through the kisses, he knew it when Blaine's mom arrived at the Hummel house to pick Blaine up, and he knew it when Blaine said goodbye.

Still, though, he didn't see it coming.

* * *

Wes called twice the next day, while Kurt was in class. After school let out, Kurt called him back.

"Kurt," Wes said, sounding relieved. "Glad to hear from you."

"What's up?" Kurt asked.

"I just wanted to know what's going on with Blaine. Is he okay?"

"He's fine," Kurt assured him. "I think it was a little tough on him to leave, but his reasons are understandable."

"What reasons?" Wes inquired.

"He didn't tell you?"

"No, he didn't tell any of us."

Well, that was strange. Kurt paused. "He told me that he wanted to devote more time to his college apps."

"What?" Wes sounded less irritated than Kurt expected, and more confused. "Why would he quit, though?"

"Because, Wes," Kurt said slowly, "he would have more free time if he weren't going to all those Warbler practices. I know you think you go easy on that group, but the practice schedule can be pretty grueling."

"Warblers aside, he quit school so he could apply to college? How does that make any–"

"Wait, what?" Kurt's eyes widened. "What did you say?"

"Blaine withdrew from Dalton yesterday," Wes said.

"He did  _what_?"

"Yeah, and he didn't even tell us. We heard it from Mr. Kappage during fourth period. Jeff tried calling him, but it said his number's been disconnected. Same with his home phone. And he deleted his Facebook."

"Okay, wait." Kurt was reeling. "Wait, just... wait." He headed for his car at a swift pace. "This has got to be a misunderstanding of some kind. Blaine wouldn't just drop out of school without telling anyone." He hopped into his car, cradling his phone under his ear as he started the ignition. "I'm driving over to his house now. I'll call you back."

They hung up, and Kurt drove toward the Andersons' home, his heart in his throat. None of it made any sense. There had to be a reasonable explanation.

There was a For Sale sign outside Blaine's house. Kurt ran to the front door and pounded on it, then checked the windows when no one answered. The interior of the house, once filled with lovely furniture and an even lovelier curly-haired boy, was completely empty.

* * *

So yes, there had been signs. Clues that Kurt missed completely.

But on that October day, when he stood in front of an empty home and tried to make sense of it all – that was the moment when the possibility first occurred to Kurt that he might never see Blaine again.

It seemed like an overly dramatic, reactionary assumption.

And, as it turned out, he was right.


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt didn't cry. And for someone who got teary during any good Hallmark ad on TV, that was unusual.

Instead, he sat in his room, on his bed. He pulled his knees up to his chest and stayed that way for days. He didn't cry.

Blaine had left him, and he was alone again.

"Kurt?"

The knock came at his bedroom door again, but Kurt didn't respond. Finally he heard the knob turn, and the door swing open gently. "Hey," Burt said softly. "It's been three days, buddy. Don't you think it's time to talk about this now?"

Kurt stared at the wall. "I don't want to talk, Dad."

"I know." Burt sat down at the foot of the bed. "But sometimes it can help."

"Will it bring him back?"

"No, but it could help you deal with this a little better." The lack of tears was clearly unnerving Burt. "Just remember, Blaine leaving... it has nothing to do with you." Kurt let out a noise of disbelief, but Burt continued undeterred. "Do you really think he would drop out of school and leave town because he didn't want to date you anymore? Doesn't that seem a little extreme?"

"He knew he was going. He didn't tell me."

"What was the last thing he did tell you?"

Kurt closed his eyes, pained by the memory. "He said he loved me and that he'd do anything for me." When he opened his eyes again, Burt was watching him with a soft expression.

"Well, maybe when he said he'd do anything for you, he meant it. And what he  _did_  for you was to not involve you in a very messy situation." At Kurt's questioning look, he added, "I can think of a dozen reasons why a family would have to skip town suddenly, and none of the options are very good. You said Mr. Anderson traveled abroad a lot?"

"Yeah. I never even met him. Blaine said he was gone most of the time."

"He may have gotten into some trouble. We just don't know."

Kurt frowned, deep in thought. "I wish I could help."

"I know you do, son. That's one of the things I love most about you. But if I know Blaine, I know he'd want you to take care of yourself right now. You haven't eaten in days. Why don't you come downstairs and try some of Carole's hotdog macaroni and cheese casserole."

Kurt was silent for a minute, then heaved a sigh. "Quinoa salad with black beans and cilantro," he countered listlessly.

"That's my boy."

* * *

Kurt made it through the next week on auto-pilot. He dodged his friends' questions and the Warblers' texts, choosing instead to spend his time reading magazines or watching old DVDs of Project Runway. The hurt didn't wane, though, and the worry only grew.

On Saturday morning, he rose early, stripped his bedding and threw it into the washing machine. Then he dusted his bookshelves, and wiped down his mirror. Cleaning was easy, automatic. It made him feel like he was accomplishing something.

The doorbell rang at eight, and he hurried downstairs before it could wake his family. When he pulled open the door, an unfamiliar man was standing there, holding a briefcase. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with natural blond hair and a bit of stubble. "Good morning," the man said with a charming smile. "You must be Kurt."

"I am," Kurt said, smiling back.

"My name is Scott Ward," he began.

Kurt's smile dropped at once. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Pardon?"

"What are you, some sort of pedophile?"

" _What_?"

"I heard you on the phone with Blaine. Trying to pressure him into doing something he didn't–"

"Kurt," Scott interrupted, pulling a slim leather wallet out of his jacket. "I work for the Department of Justice. I'm a United States Marshal." He opened his wallet, displaying his badge. Kurt read it numbly. "Can I come in, please? I'd rather not have this conversation on your porch."

Wordlessly, Kurt stepped aside, and Scott came into the foyer, shutting the door behind him. Kurt led him into the living room, dropping into a chair with a thud. "You're a U.S. Marshal," Kurt repeated, still bewildered.

"I am. I'm here because of Blaine."

"You've talked to him? Is he all right?"

"He's fine," Scott assured him, and Kurt's shoulders slumped with relief. "I can't tell you where he is, but I assure you he is in a safe location."

"But why? What's going on?"

Scott shifted uncomfortably. "I'm in a bit of a strange predicament, Kurt. Because, for security purposes, I'm not supposed to share with you any details."

"But?"

"But..." Scott showed his palms. "Blaine hasn't left me much choice."

"What do you mean?"

"He's not doing too well."

"You just said he was fine!"

"He's safe. He's protected. But frankly, he's sort of heartbroken. He hasn't been eating or sleeping. And he flat-out refused to cooperate unless I came here and told you what's happening. So my options are either to lose our case, or to trust that you won't repeat what I'm about to tell you. Not to anyone, not ever." Scott's eyes were deadly serious. "Do you understand?"

Kurt swallowed hard. "I promise," he swore.

Scott set his briefcase on the coffee table, popping it open. He withdrew a few newspaper clippings. "Have you ever heard of the Castellano family?"

"Sure, who hasn't. They're the West Coast mafia."

"Right." He handed the clippings to Kurt, who began to skim them quickly. "The FBI had been after their boss, Marco Castellano, for decades. But no matter how many informants, how many plants they got into the organization, no one could touch Marco. Then, in 2007, a boy and his father were fishing off a pier in the San Francisco Bay. They witnessed Marco shooting two men on his yacht and pushing them into the water."

"I remember this," Kurt breathed. "It was all over the news."

"Your boyfriend and his father were very brave. They reported the murders to the authorities, and they agreed to testify against Marco. And as a result, their lives would never be the same." Scott took back the articles, setting them back in the briefcase. "It wasn't long before the Castellanos found out who they were. We relocated them from San Francisco to Wisconsin, and gave them new identities. Perfecto chose a new first name–"

"Perfecto is Mr. Anderson?"

Scott smiled kindly. "Perfecto is Blaine's real name."

Kurt's eyes widened. "Oh."

"His mom, Dalisay, is Filipina. She named him after her father. But Perfecto is far too ethnic a name not to stand out in the Midwest. So I let him choose a new name. He became Blaine, and his mother became Ann."

"Why didn't they stay in Wisconsin?"

Scott drew a deep breath. "Well, that's where it gets complicated. Perfe – I mean, Blaine – he was twelve when we moved him, and he'd just recently come out to his parents. That's all well and good in San Francisco, but it's a different ballgame in Wisconsin. He insisted on being out at his new school, despite all of his father's warnings to fly under the radar."

"Oh, god." Kurt covered his mouth with his hand. "So when he thought his dad wanted him to be straight–"

"All his dad ever wanted was for him to be safe. The Castellanos had found out that Blaine was gay, and this country isn't exactly teeming with out-and-proud half-Filipino pre-teens." Scott shook his head. "No one could convince Blaine, though, and so he came out on his first day at his new public school. And the kids were merciless."

Kurt's heart clenched, as he remembered the few stories Blaine had told him. "How long did they stay there?"

"Until Blaine landed in the hospital after a particularly bad beating. We relocated him and his mother to Ohio, while his dad was placed in Florida."

"You split them up?"

"Yes. Last week was the first time Blaine had seen his dad in more than two years."

"But–" Kurt squinted in confusion, his mind racing. Then he froze in disbelief. "You separated them because you thought Blaine was eventually going to get caught by the Castellanos. And you wanted his dad to still be around to testify."

"Very good," Scott said. "Blaine's family didn't pick up on that."

"You're a bastard."

Scott shrugged, not disagreeing. "The trial starts in a month. We pulled Blaine and his parents this week, and have them living in a safehouse for the duration of the trial."

"And then he can come back?" Kurt asked hopefully.

"No," Scott said, not unsympathetically. "He can't ever come back here, Kurt. A fresh start is his best chance at disappearing for good."

"But once Marco is put away–"

"There will probably still be a bounty on their heads. The mafia is not known for their forgiveness." Scott noticed Kurt's pale expression, and added quickly, "There's good news for Blaine, though." He rummaged through his briefcase again, before pulling out a photograph and handing it to Kurt.

It was a picture of a pudgy young boy with a mess of curls atop his head. "Who's this?"

"That's Perfecto at age twelve."

Kurt did a double-take. "Seriously?"

"And here," Scott said, handing him another picture, "is something we intercepted recently through online chatter. It's an age-progression rendering that's accompanying the hit order out on Blaine."

The second photo showed a computer-generated image of an overweight teenager with shaggy, curly hair and a smattering of acne.

It looked nothing like Blaine.

"This is a good thing, right?" Kurt asked quickly. "They're looking for the wrong person."

"Exactly. They also assumed he'd be taller, since his dad is over six feet. All of these things will work in his favor when it comes time to permanently place him. It doesn't protect him completely, though; he lives with his parents, and they still look similar to their old photos."

"But won't everyone see what Blaine looks like when he shows up at the trial?"

"No. We'll be recording depositions of him and his father, and the footage will be digitally altered to obscure their appearances. As long as Blaine stays slim and keeps trying to straighten his hair, he should be okay."

Kurt flushed, recalling their argument over Blaine's hair. Meanwhile, Scott placed the pictures back in the briefcase before snapping it shut. "Wait, you're not leaving, are you?" Kurt asked, starting to panic. "You–"

"I did what I promised," Scott said, standing.

"But I want to talk to Blaine.  _Please_."

"I'm afraid I can't allow that."

"What if you call him, and he and I can tell you what to say to each other? Then you're not technically breaking the rules–"

Scott started to walk toward the front door, then paused. "If you tell me a message, I'll relay it to Blaine when I see him. That's all I can offer." He looked at Kurt intently. "But remember, he's hurting right now. You can give him comfort, but you can't give him false hope. Think about what Blaine needs to hear in order to move on with his life right now."

Kurt stood there, stricken. His chest tightened painfully, and he struggled to breathe. "Tell him..."  _I love you, I love you, I'll find you._ "Tell him I said goodbye."


	4. Chapter 4

Kurt kept his word.

He didn't tell anyone about Blaine (Perfecto, he kept reminding himself) or his family's secret. He lied to his father, to Carole, to Mercedes. To any and all who asked him where Blaine had gone, he feigned complete ignorance.

That his father eventually did figure out the truth, well, it wasn't Kurt's fault.

Right around the time when the Andersons disappeared, Kurt had developed a sudden and inexplicable fascination with crime news channels. It seemed as though every time Burt came into the room, his son was fixated on the trial of the West Coast Mafia boss, Marco Castellano. Curious, Burt read up on the trial himself. Once he read the age of the young witness, he knew.

From then on, they watched the trial coverage together, every night after dinner. Sometimes, Kurt would take his father's hand and grip it tightly, grateful for the answering squeeze he'd receive. They never, ever talked about it.

* * *

Life went on, of course. There was school, and glee club, and so many things that had once seemed so important. Kurt had become impervious to bullying; no matter how many times he was shoved into lockers, he just kept walking, seeming not to notice. After a few months, the bullies gave up on him altogether.

His grades began to slip. He didn't audition for solos anymore, and he started coming to school dressed in jeans and old tee shirts. His dad and Carole tried talking to him about it. Mercedes, Rachel, and Miss Pillsbury staged an intervention.

"It's not that I don't care about anything anymore," he told them.

In actuality, that's exactly what it was.

In the end, everything was turned around by four simple words. Kurt and his dad were watching CNN's nightly coverage of the trial. A reporter was discussing expert witness testimony, when Kurt said, "I think I'm going to quit glee club. I don't really like it anymore."

He waited.

Burt watched him, and Kurt watched the screen. His vision was growing blurry with the effort of not looking at his father, and after several minutes, he gave up, turning to face Burt. And Burt offered him just one question:

"What would Blaine say?"

* * *

It was the ultimate mystery, and yet not.

What  _would_ Blaine say about Kurt quitting the glee club? What would Blaine say if he found out that Kurt was failing out of Home Ec, a class he was more than qualified to teach himself? What would Blaine say about the fact that he'd given up his own life for the sake of justice, while Kurt had given up his own life out of self-pity?

That night was a turning point. The next morning, Kurt sashayed into school wearing red skinny jeans, a transparent shirt, a fitted sequined vest, and a fedora.

Mercedes started to cry when she caught sight of him. The two of them caused quite a scene as she clutched him and sobbed, but he just smiled benignly and told passers-by that good fashion can really be quite moving.

* * *

The time came to pick a college. He'd been waitlisted at Parsons – Miss Pillsbury privately suspected that his senior slump was to blame – but was accepted to NYU. He filled out the NYU paperwork and stared at it.

They'd had a plan.

It felt like treachery, going to New York City without Blaine. Rachel was going, of course, and it did feel vaguely reassuring that, however irritating she might be, he would have a friend in the city. But he thought of their plan – with the burgundy-and-white striped apartment, and the cozy coffee shops, and the drunken karaoke nights – and it was all supposed to be  _them. Together._

He blinked at the paperwork, and asked himself,  _What would Blaine say?_

He sealed the paperwork in an envelope and mailed it. If Blaine couldn't live out their dream, well, Kurt would live it for both of them.

* * *

Kurt moved into the dorms, where he met his roommate, a quiet boy named Eddie who by some stroke of luck could fit all of his clothes into the small set of standard-issue drawers. He offered Kurt the use of his armoire, and in doing so made a friend for life.

They bickered sometimes – like when Eddie's late-night gaming interrupted Kurt's beauty sleep, or when Kurt's incessant viewing of trial coverage on his laptop got annoying – but by and large, they were well-suited to each other.

"Are you gay?" Eddie asked him one day, while Kurt was in the midst of giving himself a spectacular pedicure.

"Yes," Kurt said, tensed, waiting.

"Because there's a guy on my soccer team who I think would be perfect for you."

Sometimes, he had to be reminded that he really had left Ohio behind.

* * *

The guy on Eddie's soccer team was perfectly nice. So was the guy in his History of Couture class, and the guy he met at an off-Broadway audition. There were plenty of perfectly nice guys in New York City. He wasn't interested in dating any of them.

"At some point you have to move on," Rachel told him, as they shared a falafel sandwich on a bench in Riverside Park.

"I know," Kurt agreed amiably. "But not today."

* * *

In April of his freshman year, the trial drew to a close, and the jury reached a verdict. Most people found out via the internet, or TV news coverage, or the ticker tape in Times Square.

Eddie Coles found out when he came home from class and found Kurt sobbing into his pillow.

For two full days, he lay in bed, crying a year and a half's worth of pent-up tears. He didn't talk to anyone, and he didn't answer his father's many phone calls. Eventually a sharp knock sounded from the door, and Rachel barged in, holding out her cell phone. "It's your dad," she said, before turning on her heel and leaving the room to give him some privacy.

New York had revealed many miracles to Kurt, chief among them its ability to make Rachel Berry act almost human.

"Dad?"

"Hey champ. You heard the news?"

"Yeah." A fresh round of tears started, and he couldn't help the gasping, sniffling noises that escaped him.

"They did it," Burt pressed. 'They got the guilty verdict. Why are you upset?"

"Because now I have no idea where he is," he said, before breaking down completely.

* * *

He leaned on Rachel and he leaned on Eddie, and he made it through the semester. Summer vacation rolled around, and then it was three months of eating Carole's cooking, fighting Finn for the remote, helping his dad out at the auto shop, having get-togethers with the old glee club crew...

It felt normal.

Life without Blaine was starting to feel normal.

He started taking long solitary walks, listening to Pink songs on his iPod and daydreaming of stolen coffee-flavored kisses.

* * *

As much as he liked Eddie, living in a dormitory had never been part of the plan. And if he were really to honor Blaine by living out the dream they'd had, he needed to get an apartment. So, with Burt's reluctant blessing, he began to scour Craigslist.

It was depressing, how little he could afford.

Soon enough, he realized that he would have to share an apartment. Rachel offered right away, but he was reasonably sure they'd kill each other inside a month. There were a lot of choices once he resigned himself to shared living, and online tours made the process a bit easier.

In the end, he narrowed it down to three options: a Chelsea flat with gorgeous hardwood floors, a Brooklyn brownstone with amazing natural light, and for sentimental reasons, a run-down two-bedroom flat in the Village, whose living room was painted in burgundy stripes.

He emailed all of the tenants through Craigslist and scheduled walk-throughs. The burgundy stripe tenant was named Andrew McCarthy, which made Kurt laugh. And then feel very, very wistful.

* * *

The Chelsea flat was the clear winner. Its online photos didn't do it justice – the windows bathed the place in warm natural light, the appliances and fixtures were all newly refurbished, and there was even a claw-foot bathtub. The other tenant was a fellow fashion major, and they gleefully spent two hours discussing their favorite designers. Kurt missed his appointment at the Brooklyn place altogether so they could keep talking.

"It was great meeting you," Courtney said, walking him out with a smile. "I really hope this works out."

Kurt nearly danced down the sidewalk. His dad had all of his stuff packed and ready to ship once Kurt knew his new address. He looked around at the neighborhood outside, grinning in satisfaction. His cell phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out to read a new text:

_Hi, Kurt, it's Andrew. Are we still on for your 6:00 tour? I made dinner, hope you like spaghetti._

Frowning at the display, Kurt sighed. What would Blaine do?

Blaine would be a gentleman.

* * *

Greenwich Village was a great area, but the apartment building was a dump. Kurt pressed the button for 3G, resisting the urge to use hand sanitizer afterwards. Andrew buzzed him in, and he climbed three dingy sets of stairs before finding the apartment. He knocked on the door, and it opened in seconds.

Andrew had startlingly red hair, which was a bit too long and looked flat-ironed. His right ear was pierced, as was his left eyebrow.

His thick, almost triangular left eyebrow.

"Hi," Andrew said softly.

Kurt couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He just stared.

Andrew's hand flew up to his hair. "I know," he said bashfully. "It's bad. And from a bottle. It won't be necessary forever, I don't think. Just till the media circus dies down." His eyes raked over Kurt almost hungrily. "You look good. You look  _so good_."

Kurt still didn't respond, so Andrew rushed onward. "I made us some dinner. If you're hungry. I never did really learn how to cook, but spaghetti bolognese is pretty hard to mess up."

Kurt struggled to form words, finally whispering brokenly, "You're here."

"Yes."

"You're  _here_?"

"We had a plan," Andrew said. "Remember?"

"I remember." He was trembling. They both were. "Why... why didn't..."

"I was confused. You told Scott to tell me goodbye, and I didn't want you to be held down indefinitely, waiting for me. It's been almost two years, Kurt. You could have found someone else, and I didn't want to ruin that for you." Andrew paused, swallowing. "Then last month, I remembered what you used to say all the time, that you'd never say goodbye to me. And I thought maybe... maybe that had been your real message to me."

Kurt drew in a breath.

"So I moved to the city, rented this apartment," Andrew continued, gesturing around them. "It was the nicest place I could find that fit your stipulations but would allow tenants to paint the walls, too." He looked back at Kurt, his expression a stormy, desperate mix of fear and hope. "I know I did a lousy job with the painting."

"It's not bad," Kurt lied.

They stood and looked at one another. Andrew stroked his dyed hair again, self-consciously. "So? What do you think?"

Andrew's hair was too long, and too red, and too straight. The piercings were unattractive, and he'd lost too much weight. The apartment was a dive, and the painting job was uneven–

"Perfecto," he said, and Andrew burst into tears.


	5. Chapter 5

At the sight of the tears, Kurt stepped forward, but Andrew held up a hand and took two steps back quickly. "Don't."

"Why not?" Every nerve in Kurt's body was thrumming, tingling, pushing him to reach for the other man. Andrew's eyes were wary, though, and Kurt forced his feet to remain still as he reached behind him to shut the apartment door.

"We have to talk first. If we..." Andrew closed his eyes briefly. "Talking first. Then you can decide what you–"

" _Decide_? You really think there's a decision to be made here?"

Andrew stared at him pleadingly. "Kurt, if you took me back, I'd be the happiest man alive. Truly. But I need you to know what you'd be getting yourself into first. Because if you chose to be with me now, and then you changed your mind after an hour or a day or a month, after you'd thought it through... I wouldn't be able to recover from that."

"But–"

"Please." He swiped at the tears on his cheeks with the back of his sleeve. "Have dinner with me. Hear about what the rest of my life will entail, before you decide whether you want to be a part of it."

* * *

The apartment had a small eat-in kitchen, in which Andrew had set up a little card table with two placemats side-by-side. He poured two glasses of water as Kurt sat down on one of the folding chairs, then served them both spaghetti bolognese before taking his seat beside Kurt.

Dinner was truly terrible. Andrew had managed to both undercook the pasta and nearly scorch the meat. Kurt chewed exactly two bites before the urge to laugh became too great. Their eyes met, and they both lost it. Andrew's mouth was still full of the disgusting concoction, the spaghetti sticking in between his teeth, and he had to spit it into his napkin to keep from choking. They each leaned forward, clutching their stomachs as they howled with laughter. Once they calmed down, the tension between them had finally lessened.

"I was never supposed to cook, remember?" Andrew reminded him between lingering giggles. "I was supposed to do the cleaning, and you were–"

Kurt grabbed him behind the neck and pulled him close, claiming his lips greedily as Andrew kissed him back just as fiercely. His head swam from the feel of his skin, and the scent of his sweat, and the sound of his moans, and the  _taste of his mouth_. After a few seconds, though, Andrew fisted the front of Kurt's shirt in his hands, pushing him away even as he held him tight.

"We need to talk first," Andrew gasped, watching Kurt lick his lips. "Please."

"So talk," Kurt said breathlessly.

* * *

They sat at opposite ends of the couch, facing each other. Andrew ran a hand nervously through his hair as Kurt stared at his lips. "I don't even know where to begin."

"Scott told me the basics," Kurt said. "Witnessing the crime, moving to Wisconsin. Start after that."

"It was bad. Our family had always been seen as high-risk, because a mixed-race couple with one son is fairly noticeable in much of the country. When I refused to play straight, even after everything that had gone down in Wisconsin, the Witness Protection program decided that our family had to be split up, to attract less attention. I went with my mom to Ohio, and my dad went off on his own. Turns out he was in Florida, but we weren't told his location, and he wasn't told ours."

Kurt nodded. "Why Ohio?"

"Asian populations are higher in major cities, and the Marshals knew that Castellano's men were focusing their searches there. They placed me and Mom in an upper-class town in the Midwest and gave us the cover story that my dad was traveling a lot on business. The biggest draw to Ohio, though, was Dalton."

"Really? Why?"

"It had a zero-tolerance bullying policy, and enough racial diversity that my ethnic background wouldn't be particularly interesting to anyone. And single-gender schools tend to be more accepting of gay students." Andrew looked wistful. "Everyone there was so nice to me. They were the first real friends I'd had in years. I joined the Warblers and finally felt like I belonged somewhere. You know?"

"I know."

"And just when I thought it couldn't get any better, I met you. And for the first time ever, I didn't feel that barrier between me and someone else. You  _got_ me – better than my friends did, better than my parents did, even. All of a sudden, I realized that my name didn't matter. Where I came from didn't matter. You understood and loved me without all of that. And I loved you back, I–" Andrew shook his head. "I guess I'd never loved anyone like I loved you."

Kurt wondered at the past tense.

"Castellano had a whole team of lawyers whose real purpose was to keep stalling the trial while his goons searched for me and my dad. It seemed like we'd never go to trial, and so I... I got comfortable. I started thinking maybe it would be years, decades even, before they'd call us to testify. So I let myself dream. I dreamed about moving to New York, starting a life with you. And then–" He broke off.

"And then Scott called," Kurt supplied. "That was in, what, October?"

"Late September," Andrew said miserably. "At first, he said the trial would begin within the year. Then, the timetable kept being pushed up, until a few weeks later he called and said they'd need to extract us in two days. I wanted to tell you, I swear."

"I know you did."

"They took us to a safehouse in Oregon, where we had round-the-clock security. Just me and my parents, in a little house we weren't allowed to leave. They deposed us there, and then we waited through the trial. All told, we were at the safehouse for about year and a half."

"You must have gone stir-crazy."

"It was lonely. I ran on a treadmill to get rid of nervous energy, and I wrote a lot of songs. And I thought about you."

Kurt felt his heart swell. "Okay, there, we've talked. Now I can decide?"

"We've talked about what happened until the verdict. It's everything after that that will affect your decision." Andrew drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his shins. He suddenly looked very young to Kurt. "After Castellano was convicted, it was time to place us somewhere permanently. I kept asking to go back to Ohio, but the Marshals wouldn't allow it. They said if our family were to move back after suddenly disappearing, we'd draw too much scrutiny. And then Scott reminded me that you'd said goodbye, and had probably moved on and found someone else."

"I knew I didn't like that guy," Kurt scowled.

"In retrospect it was probably an attempt at manipulating me," Andrew said. "But at the time... I almost punched him, I was so angry." He looked ashamed at the memory. "After that, we barely spoke to each other. I kept saying I wanted to go to New York to find you, and the Marshals kept saying no. The hit order was still in effect, and my parents still look too similar to the photos that Castellano's hit-men were given, so they would be too high-risk for New York."

"How did you convince the Marshals?"

"I didn't, actually. My dad did." Andrew shook his head. "It still blows my mind. Scott and I were arguing, and everyone kept telling me I was being selfish, and suddenly my dad stood up and yelled for everyone to be quiet. And then he said that if I went to New York, I'd be in very little danger, since my appearance is so different from when I was a kid. And–" He swallowed.

"Oh my god." Kurt's eyes widened. "You were relocated alone, weren't you? They split you up."

Andrew nodded, taking a shuddering breath. "Dad said... he said he and my mom would always love and be there for me, at any point. But I might have a limited time to get you back, and... he said I'd already lost so much because of the trial..."

"They let you go, so we could be together," Kurt finished, awed.

"So we could have the option, at least," Andrew said carefully. "And after five years, the Marshals will reassess our risk levels and see if the hit order still stands. At that point, they'll determine whether we can reestablish contact with each other."

"Wow."

"Here's the thing, Kurt." Andrew leaned forward seriously. "You need to look at the situation with open eyes. I'm in constant danger of being recognized. If I am compromised, at best I'll have to give up everything I have here and be relocated again. At worst, I'll be murdered. Probably along with anyone who's with me."

Kurt paled.

"Say we end up together," Andrew continued. "And my cover gets blown, and the Marshals have to move me. What would you do? Because if you came with me, you would lose everything. You couldn't stay in contact with your dad, or your family, or your friends. You couldn't even warn them that you were leaving. You'd just be gone."

"How – how high are the odds?"

"That my cover gets blown? There's no way to tell. The odds change constantly. Right now, they're really low. But everything could change in an instant. Someone could call out 'Perfecto' nearby, and if I looked up, someone else could notice. There are a million little ways I could expose myself. Think of all the times I slipped up when we were dating."

"Right," Kurt said, remembering.

"It's easy to say we should be together now, when the risks are low," Andrew said earnestly. "What I'm asking you to do,  _please_ , is make your decision based on all scenarios. Think about what you want, but think about me too. I may talk a good game about courage, but I'm weak, Kurt. I'd take you back any way I could have you. But if I get compromised here, and you decide not to come with me..."

"You're telling me it's all or nothing," Kurt said. "Either I take you back forever, or I let you go right now."

Andrew steeled himself before nodding. "And if you're even remotely considering it, I want you to think about it for twenty-four hours. Not here, either. Go spend time with your friends. Call your dad. Work on some new fashion designs. Think about all the people and the passions that make you who you are, and what they mean to you. Think about whether you could give them all up, just to be with me." He stood up, walking toward the door and opening it.

Kurt hesitated before following him to the door. They looked at each other, and Kurt suddenly felt as though they were still thousands of miles apart. "So we'll talk tomorrow," he said.

"If you, um..." Andrew's jaw clenched a little. "If you decide you don't want to be with me, I'll completely understand. But please don't come back here just to tell me that. I won't be able to take it. If you decide not to be with me, I'll know if I don't see you after twenty-four hours have passed. Okay?"

Kurt nodded, not trusting his voice. He stepped through the doorway, turning around to look at Andrew. "Your hair really is awful," he said finally.

Andrew laughed, leaning his head against the door frame. "I love you, Kurt," he said, before closing the door.


	6. Chapter 6

Kurt wandered through Greenwich Village, lost in thought. He pulled out his cell phone a couple of times, but couldn't bring himself to call anyone. Finally he found a free bench in Washington Square Park. He sat, taking a pad of paper and a pen out of his bag, and opening the notepad to a fresh page.

He carefully wrote  _Being with Andrew_ across the top of the page, and made two columns, labeling the one on the left  _Pros_ and the one on the right  _Cons._ His pen scratched across the surface of the page as cons came to him in a steady stream:

\- I might never see Dad again.  
\- I might never see Carole or Finn again.  
\- I might never see Mercedes, Eddie, or Rachel again.  
\- I might have to give up fashion.  
\- I would be in constant danger.  
\- I would never be able to feel settled/rooted anywhere.

Under the Pros column, try as he might, he could only come up with one item:

\- I would get to be with Andrew.

* * *

"Hey, how'd the apartment tours go?" Eddie asked, leaning back in his desk chair as Kurt entered the dorm room.

"Okay." Kurt dropped his bag by the door. "Thanks again for letting me stay here while I look for a place."

Eddie smiled and turned his attention back to the celebrity tweets on his laptop screen. "It's all good. You find any good prospects?"

"Maybe. Still deciding." He sat on Eddie's bed. "Hey Ed?"

"Yeah?"

"You've been in some serious relationships, right?"

"A couple, yeah."

"Have you ever had to make a sacrifice for a girlfriend? Something really, really big?"

Eddie nodded. "Sure. I once missed a Giants game so I could go to Michelle Salvatore's stupid ballet recital. She dumped me two days later, too."

"No, I'm talking about a  _big_  sacrifice, Eddie."

"It was a  _playoff game_."

Kurt pinched the bridge of his nose, counting to five. "Okay. Say you were dating a girl, and you were madly in love. What would you give up for her?"

"If I really, really loved her?"

"Yeah."

Eddie thought for a moment. "Pretty much anything except beer."

"What about something bigger?"

"What's bigger than beer?"

"What if she said that if you wanted to be with her, you couldn't ever see your friends again?"

"Psh, no." Eddie shook his head. "No dice."

"This is the love of your life we're talking about."

"So? Bros before hos," Eddie said emphatically. "That's a rule to live by, Kurt. Your friends should  _always_  come first. Bros bef–" He paused. "Oh. It'd have to be the opposite for you, wouldn't it. So then, chicks before dicks. Either way, it's really good advice."

"So no matter how much you loved the girl, you wouldn't give up your friends to be with her?"

"Any girl who would  _ask_  me to make that choice isn't worth the trouble." Eddie turned back to his computer, and Kurt sighed.

* * *

The next morning, he made a three-way call to Mercedes and Rachel.

"This must be really important," Rachel said gravely. "For you to call your two closest, most trusted confidantes."

"I need some advice," he admitted.

"Kurt, we are so here for you."

"Yeah, lay it on us," Mercedes said. "We got this."

"Okay, so hypothetically, say I was dating a guy–"

He was cut off by a shrill, ear-shattering scream. "Rach, did you hear that? He's finally over Blaine!" Mercedes squealed again. "Lord have mercy, I thought it'd never happen. I thought our boy was gonna die a spinster."

"I don't know, I thought it was kind of romantic, how he was still pining after all this time," Rachel said wistfully. "There was something poetic about it. Like the Brownings. Romeo and Juliet. Tristan and Isolde. You didn't see  _Tristan_  dating again."

"Guys, I'm not dating anyone," Kurt insisted. "This is a hypothetical."

"Right," Mercedes said. "I get you. So  _hypothetically_ , does this new boy have a fine ass?"

"Mercedes, Kurt is obviously going through a lot of turmoil right now. Let him ask his question."

"Thank you, Rachel," Kurt said. "So let's say I was dating a guy, and he was perfect in every way–"

" _Knew_  he had a fine ass."

"Mercedes! Go on, Kurt."

"So say the new guy was my one true love, but if I wanted to be with him, I might have to give up my relationship with... with everyone else in my life."

There was a brief pause, before the girls started talking over each other frantically. "Uh-uh. Red flag. There is no way that a guy  _Kurt, you really need to think about what is best for_ gonna cut my wings, no way no how  _no way to behave in a relationship, you need to_ hell to the no, and I say again, hell to  _as Barbra Streisand once said–_ "

"Hey," he hollered, and they quieted at once. "So neither of you would ever make that kind of a sacrifice in order to be with your true love? Really?"

"Think about Blaine," Rachel said. "Would he ever have asked you to give anything up to be with him?"

"Yeah, Kurt, think about Blaine. What would he say?"

"Hold out for another Blaine."

"Yeah. Hold out for another Blaine."

* * *

Kurt spent most of the day walking around the city. He imagined having Andrew there beside him, holding his hand, tugging him into used record stores and letting Kurt tug him into designer consignment shops.

He thought about the plan they'd crafted years ago, the one that suddenly seemed both attainable and impossible.

The sun broke from behind a skyscraper, and he wondered how Andrew's eyes would catch its light.

* * *

He climbed to the top of the bleachers in Times Square, finding a seat among the anonymous throngs of tourists. The pro/con list was still clutched tightly in his hand, as he tried to work up the nerve to call his dad.

Dread pooled low in his stomach. Logically, he knew that he could go against Eddie's advice. He could even go against Mercedes' and Rachel's advice. But there was no way he could defy his own father. And yet the prospect of never seeing Andrew again, never knowing if he was okay, never being able to hold him... it was almost paralyzing.

He ran his thumb over his cell phone screen. The motion made the display light up, and when he looked at the time, he realized there were only two hours left until Andrew's imposed deadline. Taking a deep breath, he dialed the number for Hummel Tires and Lube. His father answered the call on the third ring.

"Yeah, Hummel's. Burt speaking."

Suddenly, Kurt's throat felt unbearably tight. How had he ever considered this to be a tough decision? He could never give up having his father in his life – not for Andrew, and not for anyone else. "Dad, hey. It's me."

"Kurt!" Burt exclaimed. "What's up, kid? You find a place?"

"Not sure yet. Weighing my options."

"Well, just remember, a lease only lasts a year. You're not exactly making a lifetime commitment."

Kurt didn't know whether to laugh or cry at that. "Yeah."

"Just called to check in?"

"Actually, no," Kurt said, "I'd wanted to ask for your advice."

"Advice? From me?" Burt sounded confused, but pleased. "You usually go to one of your girlfriends for that sort of thing."

"I know, I just... wanted your take on it. But it's okay. I think I know what you'd say. Don't worry about it."

"Don't be silly, you can ask me anything. I'm always happy to help if I can." There was a faint squeaking noise that Kurt recognized as the swivel chair in Burt's office, and then the quiet click of a door being closed. "Okay, you got my full attention. What's up?"

"You..." Kurt hesitated. "I mean... remember back when you and Mom were dating?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

"And there probably came a point at which you realized she was the right person for you, and you wanted to be with her forever?"

"I realized that pretty quick," Burt said. Kurt could hear the smile in his voice. "Like, third-date quick."

"So once you knew it for sure, that you wanted to be with her and she wanted to be with you... what would you have done for her?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like... if you'd had to give something up in order to be with her. What would you have given up?"

"Why are you asking me this?" Burt asked suspiciously. "Is someone pressuring you to do something you don't want to do?"

"Nobody's pressuring me to do anything, Dad," Kurt assured him. "I promise. But say you and Mom were dating, and someone said to you, 'You can be with her forever, but there's a chance that you two would have to leave town and never be able to see your family or friends again.' A small chance, but still a chance. Would you have done that for her?"

Burt was quiet for a long, long time. So long, in fact, that Kurt was about to ask if he was still there, when finally he murmured very quietly, "Kurt... are you asking me what I think you're asking me?"

"I'm asking what you would have given up for Mom," Kurt said. "That's all."

Burt blew out a long, slow breath and said, "Well, nothing, I guess."

"What?"

"I wouldn't have given up anything for your mom."

Kurt blinked hard, forcing himself to breathe. "Oh."

"Because in the situation you just described, I wouldn't have looked at it like that."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, think about it. Someone says to you, 'You can have the love of your life, but in exchange, you might lose everything else.' I don't look at it as giving up something for the other person."

Kurt squinted at his list. "I still don't understand."

"Somebody gives me the opportunity to be with your mom, with some strings attached. I'm not making that decision for her. I'm considering what will make me happiest in the long run. Would I choose your mom, even with the small chance I'd lose everything? Damn right I would. But I'd be making that choice for  _me_."

"Oh."

"Kurt, when you find someone who you love that much, and who loves you back just as much... that's special," Burt said seriously. "It doesn't come around too often in life. And if it happened that I did lose everything else, and your mom and I had to leave town... then I know my parents would have understood. I know they would have wanted my happiness above all else, and I know they knew your mom was my best chance at it. Do you get what I'm telling you right now?"

"Yeah, Dad." He felt something lift from his heart. "Yeah, I understand."

"I know how you are. You've probably got some big pro and con list going, right? But some things can't be compared. Some things can't be measured. And Kurt, I won't be around forever. I'm eating all that healthy crap you make Carole feed me, and I'm taking walks through the neighborhood every night, and all that's so I can be around as long as possible. But one of these days, I'll be gone. And god help me, I don't want my last thought to be that you'll be left all alone, because you chose me over the great love of your life. I want more for you than that."

It felt as though he were flying, soaring. It felt as though he'd been forgiven for something he hadn't even done yet. "I love you, Dad."

"I love you too, no matter what.  _Always_. Okay?"

"Okay." Kurt ripped the pro/con list out of his notebook and crumpled it. "Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"I have my new address, if you've got a pen handy."


	7. Chapter 7

Kurt checked his watch, waiting exactly thirty-seven seconds before he knocked sharply on the door. He heard the faint sound of hurried footsteps drawing nearer, and then the door was flung open. Andrew stood before him, looking stunned.

"You came."

"I did."

"You're here."

"I am."

"I didn't think you were coming."

"You said to take twenty-four hours. It's been twenty-four on the dot."

Andrew's smile was ear-splitting."I can't believe it. I can't believe this is actually happening." He looked down at their feet, smiled even wider, and added, "I can't believe you've only brought  _one suitcase_ with you _._ "

"Yeah, with  _him_ ," came a grunting comment from down the hall. Andrew stuck his head out of the apartment to see Eddie struggling to pull three massive suitcases behind him. He dashed down the hallway at once, taking the two larger suitcases from Eddie's grasp and introducing himself.

"I'm Andrew McCarthy," he said.

"Eddie Coles. I was Kurt's roommate at NYU last year." They shook hands briefly before bringing the rest of Kurt's luggage into the apartment.

Kurt's eyes met Andrew's, and his heart felt ready to burst. They grinned at each other until Eddie cleared his throat with a pointed look.

Kurt chuckled awkwardly. "I'm just... going to unpack my toiletries in the bathroom. I'll be right back." He took the smallest of the suitcases and rolled it into the bathroom. The medicine cabinet contained only a box of Claritin and a bottle of Tylenol, so Kurt was able to cram most of his essentials onto the shelves. The rest, he relegated to the little cabinet over the towel rack.

The bathroom tile was a sickly shade of green, and the lighting was terrible. But it was  _their bathroom_. He couldn't stop smiling.

When he emerged, he noticed that Eddie and Andrew were murmuring quietly near the front door. As he drew closer, he could just barely make out what Eddie was saying: "And from what Kurt's friend Rachel tells me, he was a pretty great guy. But if Kurt starts mentioning him, try to change the subject. Otherwise he gets in one of his blue moods, where he just stares at pictures of Blaine all day long." Eddie paused, thinking. "Also, he gets really mad if you leave your wet towels draped over furniture. Like,  _really_ mad."

"He sounds high-maintenance," Andrew replied, clearly amused.

"Oh, you have no idea," Eddie whispered. "But stick it out. He's one of the greatest people I know. You'll have a blast living with him. I promise."

They both turned as he approached. "All set," Kurt said.

"Good luck, man," Eddie said, giving him a brief hug and shaking Andrew's hand again before leaving.

And then they were alone.

In their apartment, in New York City, together.

"Kurt... you're really sure?" Andrew breathed, his eyes bright. "You won't change your mind?"

Kurt shook his head vehemently. "God, no. I've been looking for you forever." He stepped forward just as Andrew did, and they clung to each other tightly.

"You've gotten taller," Andrew mumbled into his shoulder, and Kurt laughed.

"I think if we're comparing who looks more different, you're the clear winner."

"Ooh, speaking of which..." Andrew pulled back, waggling his brows and grabbing Kurt's hand. "I have a house-warming present for you."

Kurt's eyes lit up, and he allowed himself to be led into the kitchen. There was a brown paper grocery bag sitting on the little kitchen table. The top was folded over, and a gaudy stick-on bow adorned it. "Um... thanks?" Kurt said, raising one eyebrow.

"Open it."

He unfolded the bag and peered into it. "Oh,  _Andrew_. It's just what I wanted." He upended the bag, and a dozen boxes of various hair dyes fell onto the table. He picked through the offerings, before plucking two out of the pile. "I'm thinking a short, spiky cut, dyed chestnut brown with honey highlights. What do you think?"

"You always did want me to try highlights." Andrew was watching him, his eyes warm.

Kurt hesitated briefly. "I know it's stupid."

"It's not stupid."

"I know I should be pulling you into the bedroom and ravishing you–"

"I wouldn't complain."

"I just..." Kurt looked at him entreatingly.

Andrew ran his thumb down Kurt's cheek. "You want me to look a little more like the boy you fell in love with."

Kurt nodded, relieved that he'd understood.

"So," Andrew said, "let's get to work."

* * *

It was close to ten by the time they finished up. Andrew's hair, freshly dyed and cut into a short, textured style, met with Kurt's approval. He couldn't stop looking at Andrew, as though he might disappear again if he looked away for a moment.

"Let's go to bed," Andrew suggested, and they walked hand-in-hand into the bedroom.

They undressed each other slowly and nervously, trading gentle kisses and becoming reacquainted with the feel of one another's skin. There was a brief argument over who would get to bottom (Andrew won) and whether a condom was necessary (Kurt won) and then they were together again, _together_ again. Kurt had remembered the passion, but he'd forgotten the joy. He'd forgotten how often they laughed during sex, because it was awkward and messy and completely amazing.

They didn't sleep that night. They made love and talked and made love and talked some more, filling each other in on everything they'd missed.

"I'm sorry for leaving you," Andrew whispered into the crook of his neck just before dawn. "I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you."

Kurt kissed his hair. "You came here for me. We're even. Just don't leave me again, okay?"

"Never, never, never."

* * *

Kurt cooked tomato-and-asparagus omelets for breakfast, and Andrew cleared and washed the dishes afterwards. He had spent the last several months taking online university courses, so that he could transfer to NYU as a junior the following year. The Castellano henchmen would be looking for incoming college freshmen, but a junior transfer wouldn't attract undue attention.

"I'm going to call my dad," Kurt said, as Andrew slipped on a pair of reading glasses and settled down to work on an essay.

Burt answered the call on the second ring. "Kurt!"

"Hey, Dad. I'm here; all moved in."

"Well, great! You like the place? Is the neighborhood safe? Did you decide to... I mean... is the other tenant nice?"

Andrew caught his eye and blew him a kiss, and Kurt had to press hard against his chin to keep from crying. "It's all perfect."

He wasn't entirely surprised when the doorbell rang the next morning, and by the time he made it into the living room, Burt was already hugging Andrew tightly against him. "I knew it," Burt said, his voice low with emotion. "I just knew it."

"You didn't have to fly all the way out here," Andrew said, sounding guilty. "It's so expensive."

Burt pulled back, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Kurt's not the only Hummel who missed you," he said gruffly.

* * *

Sometimes, even they couldn't believe their luck.

When Kurt was in the midst of folding laundry, pressing sharp creases into his slacks, he'd often feel arms wrapping around his ribs and a chin resting on his shoulder. When Andrew would return from checking the mailbox, he'd make it three steps into the apartment before a kiss landed on his neck. They held hands as they ate dinner, and they cuddled when they watched television.

At first, it was because they still needed convincing that this was real. After a while, it was just second nature.

* * *

"I haven't seen you in a month," Rachel all but shrieked into the phone. "We haven't gone  _shopping_  or had  _lunch_  or worked on my  _audition pieces_ together–"

"I've been busy," Kurt said weakly.

"Enough is enough. I'm coming over to your apartment this Saturday at two o'clock. And I'm meeting this new boyfriend of yours. Eddie told me that he's already hung out at your place  _three times_ already. You can't hide this mysterious Andrew guy away from me any longer."

Rachel arrived at the flat with a freshly baked pound cake, which she promptly dropped on the floor when she caught sight of Andrew. Kurt grabbed a dustpan and helped her clean up the mess before she stood up and turned to face Andrew head-on.

"I'm Rachel Berry," she said briskly.

"Andrew McCarthy," Andrew replied warily.

"It's  _so good_ to meet you," she said. She hugged him and her laugh rang out, shrill with relief.

Andrew laughed, too.

* * *

"You're coming home for Christmas, Kurt," Burt said. "No debate. I want my whole family together for the holidays."

"I can't," Kurt hissed into the phone, trying to avoid being overheard. Andrew was in the kitchen, but the walls were thin. "I can't leave him alone here, Dad, there's no way."

There was a stunned silence, before Burt said in disbelief, "Kurt, I just said I wanted my  _whole family_ together. Why on earth wouldn't you know that includes him?"

Due to security concerns, Andrew had to avoid air travel for the time being. So Rachel rented a car and the three of them left New York City early in the morning, driving back to Ohio on Christmas Eve. They blasted Broadway showtunes and pop anthems, singing along at the top of their lungs in fairly impressive three-part harmony. When the Hummel house came into view, decked out with hundreds of twinkling Christmas lights, Andrew smiled more brightly than any of them.

Carole met them all at the door, pulling Andrew in first for a hug. "Finally, all of my boys are home," she sighed.

Finn heard the commotion and wandered downstairs, grinning and hugging Kurt and Rachel. He stopped short when he saw the new visitor, who extended his hand.

"Hello, I'm Andrew."

"Uh… Finn?" he replied, shaking hands and throwing a questioning look at Kurt.

Kurt helped Carole cook dinner, while Andrew, Finn and Burt watched football together and hollered at the TV screen. Carole kept pausing to dab at her eyes with a dish towel. "I know what it's like," she said brokenly. "To want him to come home so badly. I'm so happy for you, honey." Kurt set the dining room table and, in lieu of a centerpiece, set out framed photographs of his mother, Colonel Hudson, and Perfecto's parents.

"Now we're all here," he told Andrew, who kissed his cheek.

Carole was still a little weepy all the way until the dessert course, when Finn leaned over to her and whispered, "Okay, how am I really the  _only one_ who's noticed how much Andrew looks like Blaine?"

* * *

They lay in Kurt's bed that night, wrapped up in the warmth of each other and their shared memories. "I missed this room," Andrew murmured, his stubble lightly tickling Kurt's bare chest. "It always felt like home to me."

"Remember the first night you ever spent in here?"

"Not really," Andrew laughed. "I remember the hangover; does that count?"

"And the time you tried giving me lessons in how to be sexy–"

"Mm, turns out you did  _not_ need those–"

"And the time..."  _you left me_ , Kurt wanted to say, but his throat was too tight to speak the words. Andrew seemed to understand, placing reassuring kisses against his collarbone until Kurt's breathing grew even again. There had already been far too many apologies between them.

"What is it about Christmas Eve, anyway?" Andrew asked after a long silence. "No matter how old I get, there's always this feeling, like anything could happen. Like magic is possible. When I was a kid, I'd lie in bed and imagine I heard reindeer hooves on the rooftop, and Santa's footsteps creaking on the stairs."

"Didn't you get up and investigate?"

"Nah, I didn't want to spoil the magic. What about you? Did you try to catch Santa?"

"Yeah," Kurt admitted. "I wanted to tell him red wasn't a good color for him, and that black would be more slimming."

"You're adorable." Andrew snorted. "Oh my god, did you see Finn's face tonight, when he saw me?"

Kurt laughed. "That was hilarious. And at dinner–"

"I know!"

"Do you think he'll ever catch on?"

"I don't know. It's almost funnier if he doesn't. He'll just think you're attracted to a very,  _very_ specific type."

The moonlight was faint that night, and Kurt couldn't make out Andrew's face. "Is it weird for you?" he whispered. "To answer to a new name?"

"I've kind of gotten used to switching names by this point," Andrew said. "More than a name, I really just listen for your inflection."

"What do you mean?"

"When you say my name, you have this… tone, that your voice takes on." Kurt was sure Andrew was blushing as he spoke. "You could say any name you wanted, but I'd know when you were talking about me." He let Kurt curl up around him before continuing. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Is it strange for you to call me a new name?"

"A Blaine by any other name would smell as sweet," Kurt whispered. It was the first time he'd spoken the name aloud since their reunion, and he felt Andrew smile against him. "Besides," he added, "it will totally fulfill my boyhood fantasy."

"Of what, being a secret agent?"

"No," Kurt scoffed. "I always wanted to marry Andrew McCarthy." He waited for a response, but none came, and his heart started to sink. "Andrew?"

"I think we have a new plan," Andrew whispered, and they held each other in the dark.


	8. Chapter 8

Kurt began referring to it as The Wedding of the Century. Whenever he said it, Rachel would roll her eyes and Burt would cradle his head in his palms. But Andrew would also give him a sweet, lovesick smile when he said it, and try as he might, Kurt could never grow tired of those.

He didn't want to get married in a church. Andrew, still on his guard whenever they were outside of the apartment, didn't want to get married outdoors. Not even if it were on the beach, which was Kurt's latest wedding fantasy. He kept waxing poetic about Andrew riding a surfboard, and Kurt riding a dolphin, and sweetly singing mermaids providing the wedding soundtrack... Andrew tended to tune him out when mythical creatures made an appearance in the plans.

In the end, oddly, it was Eddie who came up with the solution. The three of them were sitting at a round table in The Daily Grind, Kurt and Andrew's favorite coffee shop, as the engaged couple argued about the perfect location for the wedding.

"I don't want something grandiose, Kurt," Andrew said firmly.

"How can I pull off The Wedding of the Century if it's not grandiose?" Kurt asked, his arms flailing dramatically.

"It'll be the best wedding of the  _millennium_ , because it's ours." Andrew sighed. "I want something small, honey. Not something that... attracts a lot of attention. Just our closest friends, and your family."

"What about  _your_  family?" Eddie asked. "Aren't they coming?"

Instantly, Kurt's frustration dissipated at the sorrow in Andrew's expression. He reached for his hand, and grasped it tightly. "Something small," he promised. "Twenty, thirty people tops. There are tons of places where we could have it. Places that are special to us."

"You guys should have it here," Eddie said, slurping at his coffee. "I mean, look, your favorite Thai place is right next door. They could cater the dinner part, and The Daily Grind could provide the lattes and mochas afterwards. There's plenty of comfortable seating, and you could hold the ceremony on that little platform up front where they let grungy folk singers perform..." He trailed off at the strange look on Kurt's face. "What?"

And then Kurt was peppering his cheeks with excited, grateful kisses, and Eddie was yelling in horror, and  _this was really, really happening_.

* * *

The arguments were almost constant.

Kurt had read enough wedding planning guides to know that engaged couples fought all the time. It was normal. But  _normal_  engaged couples didn't have to deal with the sorts of situations that he and Andrew were facing in the midst of their planning.

Like whether to invite their old Warbler friends to the wedding.

"They were your best friends in high school, remember?"

"Of course I remember, Kurt! But they haven't heard from me in years. What am I supposed to do, call Wes and David up out of the blue and say _Oh, hey, we used to be really great friends, and then I skipped town without notice and didn't talk to you for like three years, and now I'm marrying Kurt and we live in New York and my name is Andrew, and by the way, don't ask any questions_?"

Kurt didn't push it. He knew when to pick his battles, and he was saving up his leverage to insist that Andrew wear tails to the wedding.

It still made him sad, though, that Andrew wouldn't have anyone there for him at his own wedding.

* * *

"Excellent choice," said the jeweler, as they pointed out the wedding bands they wanted. "It's very popular nowadays to have something inscribed on the inside of each band. Many of my customers get their fiancé's initials engraved there. Would you two like to do that?"

"That sounds great," Kurt said brightly.

Andrew frowned. "Can we have a minute?" he asked the jeweler, who nodded and moved down the counter to help another customer.

"What's wrong?"

"We can't put each other's initials on the rings," Andrew sighed.

"Why not?"

"What are you going to do, Kurt, get P.S. and B.A. and A.M. all in a row?"

Kurt blinked. "Oh. Right."

"Let's just both get Hummel on ours."

"Why would I get my maiden name on mine?"

Andrew squinted at him. "How are you a maiden?"

"You know what I mean. I'll be changing my last name to McCarthy after the–"

"No you won't."

"Of course I will!"

"The hell you will! I'm taking your name!"

"This is stupid, Andrew, you–"

"No, Kurt! For once, I want to have a last name that actually means something to me!" Andrew burst out, before turning and stomping out of the store.

Kurt chased him halfway down the block before he caught up, startled by the tears in Andrew's eyes. "Oh, honey..."

"My family won't be there," Andrew choked out. "I don't even know if I'll ever be able see them again. Please, Kurt, let's both be Hummels together. At least that way I'll have some of my family there when I marry the love of my life."

In the end, they compromised on the rings. Andrew bought a lovely band with the inscription "Hummel," and Kurt bought a matching one with the inscription "Courage."

* * *

The night before the wedding, Andrew insisted on staying at Eddie's dorm room, so that he and Kurt wouldn't have bad luck from seeing each other before the ceremony. Finn, Mike, and Puck came over to Eddie's as well. They played video games and drank beer and laughed hysterically, and for the first time, Andrew felt like they might really be  _his_  friends, too.

Refusing to let Kurt be alone, Mercedes, Rachel, Tina, Santana, and Brittany descended upon the apartment, holding an impromptu slumber party in his living room. It felt like high school again. There were board games and wine coolers, junk food and Truth or Dare.

"Truth," Kurt said.

Brittany asked, "Do you ever miss Blaine?"

The other girls had figured it out – some more quickly than others – but Brittany had never quite caught on.

"All the time," Kurt admitted.

"Do you wish that you were marrying him tomorrow, instead of Andrew?"

"Britt-Britt, let's make a beer run," Santana said, getting up and dragging Brittany with her. "All these pink wine coolers are gonna make Hummel grow a vagina. And we know his man doesn't want none of that." They ducked out the door together, leaving the others behind.

" _Do_  you wish it?" Rachel asked softly. "That you were marrying Blaine?"

Kurt nodded, hesitantly. "Just... I mean... things were easier back then."

"If you call being bullied and taunted and shoved around easier," Mercedes said.

"Compared to now? Yeah, that's easier."

* * *

Burt walked Kurt down the aisle, beaming with pride. Kurt was wearing a fabulous white vintage McQueen suit, while Andrew wore a black tuxedo with, yes, tails. Mercedes and Rachel were the bridesmaids, and Finn and Eddie were the groomsmen.

Puck had gotten certified online to perform marriages in New York, which had seemed sweet until he started off the ceremony with, "The greatest gift you can give to someone you love is buttsex," and Lauren yelled out, "Never gonna happen, Puckerman!"

Kurt closed his eyes briefly, and then felt Andrew's fingers lace through his. He opened his eyes, and met Andrew's gaze. They could hear the New York City traffic even through the closed doors, and the air smelled like roasted coffee beans and steamed milk. Scott was in the back row with a video camera, recording the ceremony to show Andrew's parents, and Sue Sylvester – who somehow, despite not being invited, had shown up – kept commenting loudly, "This wedding is so gay."

Andrew smiled warmly at him. "It's perfect, isn't it, Kurt?"

It really was.

* * *

They hadn't been able to decide on a honeymoon destination, so they'd put some money into a savings account and agreed that once they could find a place that was both relaxing and safe, they would go. It was with some surprise, then, that they ran into Scott after the reception, where he was waiting by their limo.

"Ready for your honeymoon?" he asked, opening the door for them.

Kurt looked at him guardedly. "What's this about, Scott? Andrew and I aren't taking our honeymoon yet."

"You're both on break from classes. Can I steal you away for a few days? Take you to a safe,  _secure_  destination?" He raised both eyebrows pointedly.

"You..." Andrew's eyes grew wide. "Wait. Are you saying–"

Scott nodded, smiling. "Let's call it my wedding gift to you."

The limo took them to a waiting private airplane, which was far too small for Kurt's taste. He gripped Andrew's hand nervously for the entire flight. The shades were lowered on all of the windows, so there was no way to tell where they were going. But the weather was decidedly warmer when they were led, blindfolded, out of the plane and into a waiting car. Then it was another long ride, until they finally got out and were led into a house.

"You can take off your blindfolds," Scott said.

Kurt didn't even have his blindfold untied before he heard Andrew let out a sob. By the time he'd taken his off, his new husband was already in the arms of an older couple who were hugging him desperately. He watched them, feeling his heart swell.

Finally, Andrew's father broke away, and strode over to Kurt. Kurt offered his hand, but it was brushed aside in favor of his own hug. "So good to meet you," he said, and Kurt mumbled the same into his shoulder.

"I'm Cameron Sanders," he said, pulling back and grinning. At Scott's pointed cough, he added, "I mean, I used to be, anyway. We're not supposed to tell you our current names, so you might as well call me Cam."

"It's nice to finally meet you, Cam," Kurt said. He was surprised at how tall Andrew's father was. But then his tiny mother came over, and the genes made more sense.

"Kurt," she said warmly, kissing him. "My new son-in-law. I'm so happy for you both."

He looked over at Andrew, whose cheeks were streaked with tears of joy, and smiled widely. "We're happy too."

They spent three days with Cam and Dalisay. Scott gave them a strict order not to leave the house, but it was unnecessary. Andrew was perfectly content to spend the waking hours talking with his parents and watching their wedding video, and Dalisay was eager to teach Kurt how to make her son's favorite Philippine dishes. On the last evening, he cooked a meal of chicken adobo and pancit, with bibingka for dessert. Dalisay delightedly claimed it tasted just like her mother used to make.

Kurt was sure that Andrew would be miserable once it was time to leave. To his surprise, though, his husband just hugged his parents tightly and walked with a spring in his step to the waiting car, slipping on his blindfold.

"You're okay?" Kurt asked tentatively.

"I'm great," Andrew replied. "My parents are safe, and they love you, and I just married the greatest man on earth. Life couldn't get any better."

* * *

As the years passed, they slowly began to relax. The hit order was still in effect, but Cameron and Dalisay were safe, and there was no way Castellano's goons would find Andrew before they found his parents.

It was still unsettling, though, to know there was a price on his head. Every so often, Kurt would check the Wikipedia page on Cameron and Perfecto Sanders. While the page did mention the bounty offered for their capture, it also listed the last sightings of each of them. He found it strangely comforting to look at the site and think about the bounty hunters who were focusing their searches in Los Angeles and Dallas, Rome and Switzerland.

* * *

Privately, Kurt was surprised their cover had never been blown. His friends weren't known for their discretion, and interest in the West Coast Mafia and Marco Castellano was still high, even five years after the trial had ended.

A new rendering of Perfecto at twenty-five was released with the latest hit order, and to Kurt's horror, it bore a faint resemblance to Andrew. So they grew his hair again, treating it with expensive straighteners and pulling it back into a low ponytail. Kurt highlighted it again and made him use tanning lotion until Andrew looked like a surfer boy. They laughed and kissed and ignored the clawing sense of worry in their stomachs.

* * *

Kurt was sure he'd forget himself somewhere, and call Andrew "Blaine." Or that during sex – which was the only time he allowed himself to say "Perfecto," he'd be too loud and someone outside their apartment would hear him. He was afraid he'd stiffen up when hearing about the Castellano case or San Francisco in public.

There were a hundred different ways he feared he'd blow their cover. In the end, though, when Marco's henchmen found them, it was because of a mistake he'd never even considered.

But that's another story.


End file.
